


The Fall

by Ikleyvey



Category: League of Legends
Genre: F/M, The Shadow Isles (League of Legends)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-05-05 21:33:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5391203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ikleyvey/pseuds/Ikleyvey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A different take on how the Shadow Isles transformed, and how multiple events can happen at very strange moments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone, first time writing fanfiction. I have many other original stories but it seems not many people are interested in them yet.  
> When the new lore for the Shadow Isles from the League of Legends came out, I decided to write down my own vision of what happened to them, since the canon lore now looks pretty much different from it.  
> Considering this is a story about a particularly grim part of the world of Runeterra, I suggest you read this on a bright sunny day if you want.

Long before they were known as the Shadow Isles, they were the stronghold of a once magnificent kingdom of Rialin. Numerous were its people and graceful their king. Their soldiers donned white armour polished to shine brighter than the sun. Today’s Demacia would resemble just an unsophisticated barbarian settlement in comparison. Rialin was nevertheless in constant conflict with the offshore nations, waging war for fertile soil. But as pure as the image of the Isles was, their secrets were grim.

Enemies captured in battles alongside criminals and common thieves always had their life spared by the King and instead sent to the royal dungeon. But what awaited them there would make them wish they were just executed. The king didn’t pay attention to what was being done with prisoners, and so that allowed for many evils to thrive, under the cover of the king’s will itself.

Thresh was the warden of the royal dungeon and the best one yet; if one’s capableness was measured by the kept order and number of riots during their supervision. Not a single soul managed to escape since he was appointed. But this man, always dressed in black, was given the title the Chain Warden by his prisoners. His sick mind took pleasure in torturing the captives and his preferred method for that was none other than the usage of chains. Neither was anything being done to prevent this, nor did anyone outside pay attention to his deeds. Guards in the royal dungeon kept their mouths shut and their faces straight, no matter how loud the screams got. Perhaps they too were afraid they would fall victims to the warden. Even searchings for answers, how this man even got to that position, would turn up with almost nothing. He was there, with that power, like it or not.

Nothing more made his skin crawl with excitement than hearing the horrified howls of his prisoners when they sensed he was approaching. The clicks of his boots on the damp stone floor and the clangs of his rusted chains always promised pain. Oh, he took those chains everywhere. Their clatter followed his movements as if they were a part of his body. Thresh had three short strands of chains entangled in his shoulder-long filthy blond hair as well; even with his head movements, the all too familiar cling-clang sound would be heard.

Cling-clang.

Cling-clang.

“No!”

Cling-clang.

“Please no!”

One prisoner desperately dragged himself close to the bars of his dark cell. He squeezed his turgid wounded hands around them, shaking frantically with his upper body. He was unable to control this twitching.

“Warden, dear warden, Please no!”

His bruised face filled with fear was lit up by the oily light of the warden’s lantern as Thresh raised it.

“No!”

“You poor soul. You should have thought about that earlier - before you were sentenced and brought here!”

The prisoner started twisting in horror instinctively. His consciousness was shrunk so much by fear, the only thing he was capable of at that moment was noticing and memorizing the warden’s movements and that horrible smile framed by thin chipped lips.

Thresh started creeping closer to the bars, that maniacal grin growing, widened eyes fixated. Just as he was about to fling his chains violently towards the bars, a guard's sedate voice echoed through the dark hall.

"The grand general! Kalista!"

Thresh turned.

Far off, in the door frame on the beginning of the hall stood a middle-aged woman in decorated armour. Barefooted, she strolled slowly past many of the cells, never giving a second look to the bruised and shaking people inside them. Her expression showed her disinterest in this place. But before she managed to say anything, the warden came flying.

"General! My general.."

Kalista stood exactly under the only small window that was in the top of the wall.


	2. The Stare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dialogue between Tresh and Kalista

The hall was quiet for a few moments as Thresh was preparing a magnificent bow. With one foot forward, one arm arched high and the other one in front of him bent, the warden looked like a perfect picture of mockery.

„I am at your service“, his words dripped, sugar-coated.

 _Tch!_ Kalista rolled her eyes and straight as an arrow, waved her hand away sharply. Her movements indicated that she was used to taking lives.

“Enough!”

The general decided she should glance at the cells instead of at the warden this time. As she slowly turned her head, calculated, Thresh thought how the frown on her stone face fit her like she was born with it. He did not break from his bow, eagerly waiting for her to turn her attention back to him.

"You disgust me", she hissed, spying. Thresh did not realize he widened his eyes, like a dog expecting to be petted. He quickly withdrew, folding his hands, still hunched to make sure his head wasn't above hers. His chains clanked.

Kalista held her battle spear firmly, and her stature radiated military discipline and crudeness. She wasn't here to muck about.

"Clean up this floor. I had enough of walking over blood on the battlefield, I don't need that even here!"

"Of course…"

"Now then.. where was I?", Kalista closed her eyes. Just as unexpectedly, she yelled again at Thresh: "Just straighten up!"

"Of course…"

Reluctantly, the warden quit with his hunched posture, revealing that he was taller than Kalista for about half a head. She didn't tolerate affectation and everyone she spoke to had to make sure to follow her military code. Thresh appeared sunken, and he could no longer look the general in the eye.

Kalista did not lose a single speck of dignity even when the man rose above her. She did not care. She was used to being shorter than her subordinates; and even though Thresh wasn't under her command, she behaved like she had every right to dictate wherever she appeared.

The general pointed her spear towards the cells. "Five enemy prisoners are to be released as part of a bargain. I have come here to choose which ones specifically."

"Yes", Thresh replied wearily.

As soon as these words left Kalista's mouth, there was a change of atmosphere in the damp, gloomy dungeon. Faint sounds of convicts dragging themselves to the bars of their cells were heard. Their yelps and whispers followed soon after.

_"Please…"_

_"Please, my lady…"_

_"Pick me!"_

Their cries formed a unified quiet background sound that chilled the air. So weak they were, it was almost as if only their souls were left, their bodies rotten decades ago.

Thresh withstood mere moments of listening to this, before lashing out to scare the prisoners with his stare. As their whimpers got quieter, he allowed himself to turn to a very familiar subject he always toyed with in his mind, whenever Kalista came. And every now and then, he voiced it as well, as he did this time.

"And how is your son doing, general? Good in the army? I bet he will reach his mother's rank someday… And what about your husband…?"

It was as if thunder had struck Kalista. With unbelievable speed and anger, she shouted and pressed the tip of her spear at the warden's neck, forcing him to bend backwards to save his life. Her expression changed from mild annoyance to the rage of all the storms of the world.

"Hundred times I have told you – YOU HAVE **NO** RIGHTS TO SPEAK OF THEM!"

Silence took over in the dungeon. Everyone was still, awaiting her next move. But as soon as she removed her spear, the cries of the convicts continued.

"My lady… pick me… please…"

"No, my lady… please, pick me!"

The warden's mind felt blurred from the excitement and fear he felt just a moment earlier. He paid no attention to his ruffled filthy blond hair whose locks now hanged over his face as well. He did not voice himself for the rest of the encounter.

Kalista flew over to a prison guard, sloshing with her bare feet on the wet stone floor. "Release me the five most recent prisoners!", she pointed her finger at the guard, threatening. "Understood", he replied mildly.

"They're probably the only ones still presentable, thanks to our warden", she hissed.

"Plese, no!"

"Lady! Wait please!"

"The less I'm here… the better!", the general marched towards the door through which she came, turning her back to the horrible dungeon not to look at anyone in it again before exiting. Her departure was followed by hollow cries of the prisoners.

_"Pick me! Lady, pick me!"_

_~~~_

When Thresh was certain Kalista had left, his crestfallen and obedient behaviour disappeared as quickly as it showed up. He violently started swinging his fists, screaming and cursing.

"This is all your fault! You will pay!", he bellowed at the prisoners, pulling out the chains he kept around his waist. Their cries for help switched to cries of pain in seconds, as they always do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story got a new chapter, and I'll update it as I find corrections or better suited words. I hope you enjoy this psychological drama! More characters are to appear soon, driving the narrative. This story is actually based on a comic I did a few months back. it's half-finished, and I'll have to decide if it's worth the effort and time it would need to be done.


	3. Doubt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter the leader of the flanking cavalry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the third chapter, we start to learn about the current situation on the Isles.
> 
> I'm posting from my phone, so some edits and change in formatting will probably happen.

"Hecarim, a word with you, if I may?"

"Of course you may, my general."

Hecarim turned to the sinewy woman in decorated armour, who was approaching fast with a confident step. It was a rather dull early morning, and the mist still covered the valley at the edge of the central region where the auxillary troops were situated. Dew kept the chill with it, and men and animals were still drowsy.

The cavalry was stationed around an improvised barn, and Hecarim, their captain, was leniently brushing his war horse Star when he heard Kalista arriving. They were friends from the time when they had just entered the army. She was in her usual dissatisfied mood, but Hecarim knew her better than that. He was aware of her other, caring part of personality, but never thought of telling her to show it. She was probably better off this way, same as any other general or soldier, distant and professional. The fact that Hecarim himself didn't behave this way meant he knew exactly what hardships expressed emotions could bring.

"Bad morning, I can smell it", he added, causing Kalista to smirk and wave her hand away.

"Not as bad as that evening, three days ago."

Hecarim frowned, remembering the bloodbath at that time, which allowed the rest of their troops to secure the borders and breathe for a couple of days. The attacking force was driven by their egomaniacal leaders, but their army was not that motivated to conquer a foreign land with only promisses of a magical source at its center. The leaders would afterwards be the only ones gaining any benefits.

Three days ago, Hecarim's unit managed to push the west wing of the invading force back to the shores. Kalista's entire army pressed the enemies against the coast. However, the invaders threatened another attack, unless a truce would be made. Kalista, standing proud above her tired troops, bit her top lip thinking for a moment, frowning, then yelled an agreement.

Today she came to accompany the trade of prisoners.

"You know I trust you", she said in a serious tone, avoiding continuing jokes.

Hecarim nodded, petting Star gently. The black horse breathed warm air out in response. She was nervous, even though she had been fed well and bathed just a day ago.

"What is it?", Hecarim asked, noticing that the general hesitated. He pulled the reins of his horse tighter, looking at Kalista with concern. She rarely avoids being direct, unless it's something that shakes the foundation of her beliefs and values greatly. "Something's wrong", he said what he felt.

"Yes, it is wrong", Kalista's look sharpened. "Our king has not been fully devoted to being present at the defense of his own kingdom, and the queen is in less than stellar shape." The general's frown turned to the one of deep uneasiness and she rectified her spear with a handle of thick wood.

"The attackers are in pieces. Their will is broken, and I believe it won't be long before we drive them away. But still, I think you should voice your opinion even to the king and queen. Transparency is the key principle thanks to which our army is able to function properly and I'm sure it will resolve any issues in this predicament as well."

Kalista blinked at this captain's response, and glanced towards his long cavalry spear resting on the nearby wooden fence. Hecarim noticed this, and asked her to repeat to him why the spear is the weapon representative of their kingdom, as if to make his previous words clear.

"The spear represents the combined focus of the entire nation onto one common goal, the tip of the spear. And the weapon can then pierce even the hardest armour, which swords, hammers and maces could not", she recited in a monotonous voice.

"Alright, alright, alright!", she yelled soon afterwards, allowing herself a short laugh. Hecarim smiled, seeing her disspelling her doubts.

Her somewhat prettyness from younger days has long started to fade, but the grace and conviction with which she held herself did for her much more than a youthful and smiling visage ever could. Her fingers were a bit crooked, with visible veins on her hands. It was obvious that she had an unrelenting grip of her spear. She walked barefoot on the battlefield, in order to always have good rooting when throwing; all qualities of a master spearman, or spearwoman, in her case. Her posture marked her as a commanding character that could not be ignored.

Hecarim went with his hand over the short ponytail he had, remembering the most recent battle.

"Kalista, you are well aware how I trust your judgment. Three days ago, I was ready to galop into my own death, but we survived. We survived and won, thanks to your good call."

"And thanks to your guidance of the flanking cavalry", she added.

Hecarim's black horse started nervously dancing, as if she had felt a predator near by. She neighed a few times, and the captain pulled her reins down, trying to calm her.

"Woohooow there!"

"Why is Star so anxious?", Kalista asked, extending her hand towards the horse.

"Most likely just fear since the last battle. It'll wear off", the man replied, though not entirely convinced of this himself either.

"Alright. Time to move. Call your men!", the general ordered.


End file.
